Songs and sorrows
by breathing is over-rated
Summary: Post-Reichenbach song fics. So yes, there will be series 2 spoilers and quite a bit of John/Sherlock. Just to let you know. Rating may go up in later chapters.
1. Leave right now

**AN- **YAY! I can now say I have actually gone completely insane. Well, It was bound to happen eventually. Here's the fics to prove it, mostly short Post-Reichenbach songfics. Does anyone know of a good mental institute?

Disclaimer: Still don't own any of it. Song- Leave right now by Will Young

* * *

><p><strong>Leave right now<strong>

The cold wind blew down the streets and whipped round the church spire. John Watson walked quickly onto the sacred grounds, nodding his head to the vicar who smiled sadly in turn, knowing exactly why the doctor was in the graveyard. He had seen all manner of people pass by the Lords gates and he knew instinctively that this wasn't going to be the last time the blond man either.

John made his way through the gravestones until he came to the one he was after. It took a moment for him to recognise it, well it had been three years so many things were bound to have changed. He moved the moss away to stare at the carved characters and took a deep breath as he reread the in scripted name, _Sherlock Holmes._

'I'm here, just like I said.' He started, feeling the fool for talking out loud. It wasn't as if the man was actually there.'Though its breaking every rule I've ever made.' He looked round warily as he continued.'My racing heart is just the same. Why make it strong to break it once again?' The doctor felt his insides twinge.'And I'd love to say I do give everything to you, but I can never now be true.' His eyes felt wet as he backed off slightly.

'So I say, I think I'd better leave right now, before I fall any deeper.' For some reason, he felt almost angry at the grave, or more so the lifeless corpse resting inside of it. What was the point?  
>'I think I'd better leave right now, feeling weaker and weaker.' His legs shook beneath him but he was determined to stay standing.<br>'Somebody better show me out, before I fall any deeper. I think I'd better leave right now.' John tore his eyes away from the stone to look around the graveyard. It was deserted but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. With a heavy sigh he turned back to the headstone.

'I'm here so please explain. Why you're opening up a healing wound again?' This question was mostly to himself. He didn't quite know why he did this. He should just move on, get on with it. The dead can't come back, after all.  
>'I'm a little more careful, perhaps it shows, but if I lose the highs, at least I'm spared the lows.' John gave a bitter laugh. Speaking out loud like this felt almost like he was speaking to Sherlock himself. Like he was there again. He felt the lanky arms wrap round him, though he knew it was in his mind again.<br>'Now I tremble in your arms, what could be the harm to feel my spirit calm?' He asked before realising that he was alone in a graveyard, talking to a grave.

'So I say, I think I better leave right now, before I fall any deeper. I think I better leave right now, feeling weaker and weaker. Somebody better show me out, before I fall any deeper. I think I better leave right now.' The soldier turned to leave, the tears now threatening to overpower him but the anger flared and he turned back in a semi-contained rage.

'I wouldn't know how to say how good it feels seeing you today.' His mind showed him the image of the detective, lips turned upward in that wild-eyed grin he got when faced with particularly tricky puzzles.  
>'I see you've got your smile back, like you say your right on track.' And now he was talking to a hallucination but at this point, John couldn't find the strength to care.<br>'But you may never know why once bitten twice is shy.' The words choked in his throat as the tears seeped from the corner of his eyes and trailed lines down his face.  
>'If I'm proud, perhaps I should explain, I couldn't bear to lose you again.' Now the soldier sank to his knees, the hard ground met him with force that would have any other howling in pain but he was too numb to feel anything.<p>

'I think I'd better leave right now, before I fall any deeper. I think I'd better leave right now, feeling weaker and weaker. Somebody better show me out, before I fall any deeper. I think I'd better leave right now.' John said, still on the ground. His hands dug into the hard dirt beneath him. He knew he should leave but he just couldn't, he couldn't leave the detective, even after the man had left him. A soft handed rested on his shoulders.

'John.' A winter-worn, husky voice rasped. But it's owner was unmistakable. The doctor turned to the detective, mostly in shock. This Sherlock wasn't like any of his previous hallucinations. This Sherlock was beaten and battered, with blood splatters across his ragged shirt.

'John.' The voice said again. The soldier's brow knotted, his hallucinations had never made any noise before.

'John, you idiot. I'm not dead. You are not imagining me.' Sherlock said. John laughed bitterly.

'Sure. And there just happens to be another Sherlock Holmes whose grave is in exactly the same place as yours was. Hmm. Sorry if I don't believe you, old mate, but I'm still in the stage of grief. Flashbacks and hallucinations are common.' He replied. Sherlock slapped him hard.

'No, you imbecile. I'm not dead.' The detective snapped, getting frustrated. The doctor rubbed his stinging cheek as he stared with amazement, his mouth formed and 'O' shape but he didn't manage to make any sound.


	2. The hardest word

**AN-** Wow, it's been ages since I started this fic. This chapter is set about three weeks after the first one and is from Sherlock's PoV.  
>The song is 'Sorry seems to be the hardest word' by Elton John. A brilliant song.<p>

Enjoy  
>x<p>

* * *

><p>Sherlock couldn't sleep. John had let him back into 221b with open arms but that didn't mean that everything had gone back to normal. They hardly spoke anymore. The doctor was out of his flat most of the day, at work. He came home, poured himself a cup of tea and went to bed. They didn't utter a word to each other for days on end. Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. He crept up to John's room. The doctor wasn't there. He hadn't come back at all yet from wherever he'd gone to. It was driving the consulting detective insane. John could be dead but Sherlock couldn't search for him because if he did and John wasn't dead than the man would be angry with him for following him and then they would have a reason not to speak and John would take that reason, possibly by moving out for a few days or even forever and Sherlock couldn't live with that.<p>

There were steps on the stairs and Sherlock sat on the bed, waiting. John walked through the door.

'Sherlock?' He said, startled. His flatmate stared straight through him.

'What is it?' The soldier asked, his eyes were dark and baggy, like he'd tried to sleep but couldn't and hadn't for days.

'What have I got to do to make you love me?' Sherlock asked. John blinked in surprise.

'What?' He asked. The detective stood up.'What have I got to do to make you care?' The doctor stepped forward.

'Sherlock.' He groaned softly, not wanting to have this conversation now. He was exhausted and he just couldn't cope with this right now. His flatmate, however; was determined to do this now. Sherlock stood up.'What do I do when lightning strikes me and I wake to find that you're not there?' He asked. John didn't answer him, looking down to the floor. The detective gripped him, not tightly but enough to get the man's full attention.

'What do I do to make you want me?' His voice seemed almost pleading. 'What have I got to do to be heard?' The doctor's hands found their way on to of his. 'What do I say when it's all over and sorry seems to be the hardest word?' John sighed and pushed Sherlock back gently so that they both sat on the bed.

'It's sad,' He sighed. 'So sad.' God, he was tired. 'It's a sad, sad situation.' Sherlock nodded, he knew what his friend was getting at, even though the man seemed to be repeating himself.'And it's getting more and more absurd.' John continued. 'It's sad, so sad.' He yawned, looking longingly at the why can't we talk it over?' Sherlock asked. John chuckled hollowly, no light behind his eyes.'Oh it seems to me, that sorry seems to be the hardest word.' He replied, standing up and beginning to undress, a silent order for Sherlock to leave. For probably the first time in his life, Sherlock conceded and left, closing the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Back in his own room, lying on his bed, Sherlock tossed and turned. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep.<p>

_What do I do to make you love me? _He wondered sadly. _What have I got to do to be heard? _Since they first met, John had heard him. Not only that, he had listened. He had stayed. Now that seems to be gone. _What do I do when lightning strikes me? _Lightning was a good way to describe it, the sudden separation from everything he knew in one short blaze. The aftermath of this lightning was like a tree that had been hit, it could continue to live but the scars, the blackened bark, would be there for the rest of time. _What have I got to do?_ John didn't trust him anymore. _What have I got to do? _He may never trust him again. _When sorry seems to be the hardest word. _

I'm so sorry, John.


End file.
